by Tarah Scott
But tomorrow morning was hours away.
Jeanine jumped to her feet. She opened the door and stepped into the hallway, then came to an abrupt halt when Miss Stone rose from the chair on the opposite wall.
“Miss Stone, what are you doing here?”
“Forgive me, Miss Matheson, but I feared you would try to run away. You shouldn’t, you know. Lord Northington will deal with Lord Gordon.”
Tears pressed the backs of Jeanine’s eyes. Where would she ever find a truer friend? Never. But she couldn’t tell her good friend the truth.
Jeanine smiled. “I am still in my gown. I would never run away dressed in an evening gown.”
“I am not so certain.”
Jeanine laughed. “I cannot sleep. I am just going downstairs to see if Grey is still up. You go to bed and I will see you in the morning.” Jeanine started to turn.
“Miss Matheson.”
Jeanine stopped.
“I am sorry I deserted you at Lord Gordon’s.”
“What—you didn’t desert me.” Guilt assailed her.
Jeanine pulled her into a hug. She thought for an instant she detected a tremble in Miss Stone, but Miss Stone stepped back and stared with her usual composed expression.
“I will see you in the morning,” Jeanine said.
“Do you promise?”
She smiled. “I promise.”
Miss Stone nodded, and Jeanine went downstairs to Grey’s library. She couldn’t allow herself to think of Miss Stone, for Grey would guess in an instant that something was wrong. Soft light fanned out beneath the library door. Her pulse jumped. He hadn’t gone to bed yet.
She knocked. He called “enter,” and she opened the door.
The marquess looked up in surprise. Aside from the modest light from the hallway, the room was lit by only a single candelabra located on the desk where he sat. One of Lord Gordon’s letters lay open before him, the others in a stack to his right.
He folded the letter and rose. He had taken off his coat and cravat. The top buttons on his shirt were undone, revealing tanned skin and his sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. A strange tremor rippled through her.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
Jeanine started to close the door, then remembered that he had told her she was never to close the door when they were in a room alone together.
She crossed to his desk and said, “I couldn’t sleep.”
He smiled gently. “So, I see. You’re still in your ballgown. It is past time we go to sleep, though, don’t you agree.”
Her heart fell.
He smiled. “Perhaps a sherry will relax us both.”
She smiled in return. “Yes, please.”
He poured two sherries, then faced her, glasses in hand. “Shall we sit?”
An idea struck. “Can we play a game of chess?”
He lifted a brow. “You play?”
She nodded. “My father loved to play, but none of my cousins played with him, so he taught me.”
Grey approached and handed her one of the glasses of sherry. “Your father sounds like an enlightened man.”
She laughed. “It’s more likely he was just desperate for someone to play with. I am a fair player.”
Grey canted his head. “We can start a game and finish tomorrow, if necessary.”
They sat at the game table and set up the pieces. Jeanine felt as if they existed in their own private world with the candlelight enveloping them in soft light while the rest of the room lay in shadow. Grey took the black pieces, of course, and she the white. Jeanine went first, and took her time deciding on the first move. Grey decided his first move more quickly than she did, but she intended to draw the game out as long as possible. Her head slightly bent as if her attention was on the board, she lifted her eyes and studied his serious expression when it came his turn to move.
Twenty minutes into the game, he leaned back in his chair and sipped his sherry, his eyes on her face. “I can see why your father liked playing with you. Was he a good player?”
“Oh yes, much better than me.”
“Then he was quite good.”
Jeanine moved her knight. “Your turn.”
She sipped her sherry. “What are your plans for tomorrow?”
“I have no particular plans. I seldom do.”
“Really? But you always seem to be busy,” she said
His mouth lifted in a tiny smile. “Do I?”
“What do you do all day?”
“Nothing that would interest you.”
She leaned forward. “But it would interest me.”
He studied the board a little longer this time.
“Did it please you to take me as your ward?” she asked.
“It did.”
“Despite all the trouble I’ve been?”
He smiled, but kept his attention on the board. “Despite all the trouble you’ve been.” He moved his queen.
“I’m very sorry about the trouble with Lord Gordon.”
He looked sharply at her. “That was not your fault.”
“But I went to his house and I shouldn’t have.”
The marquess picked up his sherry glass again and leaned back his seat. “True, you shouldn’t have. But Lord Gordon was troublesome long before you came along.”
She frowned. “He said something about saving another innocent from your clutches.”
Grey’s expression darkened. He downed the last of his sherry in one swallow, then rose and crossed to the sideboard. “Did he say anything more?”
“Nae. I asked what he meant, but he was very cryptic. I knew he was lying. He is a terrible person.” The memory of his words fired her blood. “I almost wish I had killed him when I hit him with the poker. I wanted to.”
Valan returned to his seat. “Be glad you didn’t. We might very well have been forced to flee to France or, worse, the Colonies.”
She thought of her and Grey in France, attending dances and drinking coffee every morning. “Would that have been so terrible?”
“Indeed, it would,” he said with such conviction that her heart hurt. He must have read her expression, for he said, “Not because I don’t enjoy your company, but I would not have you a wanted criminal.”
“Really?” she asked. “My company is not so terrible?”
A strange light entered his eyes. “Not so terrible, at all.”
“I promise, I will not be any more trouble,” she said.
She thought his gaze had shifted to her mouth, then he dazzled her with a bright smile and said, “I can’t imagine how you will manage that,” and she decided she’d been wrong.
Her heart twisted. This would be the last time she would see that sparkle in his eyes. She ducked her head and looked at the chess pieces. “Thank you for making me your ward. I have been very happy.”
“Then I am happy, as well,” he murmured in a strange voice.
Jeanine nodded and dared not look at him for fear she would cry. She moved her rook. He reached for his rook, and her gaze fixed on his long fingers as he moved his chess piece across the board in line with her queen.
“Really, Grey,” she said with disdain. “That move is too obvious. If I didn’t see that I would be a real ninny.”
“And you are no ninny.”
She pinned him with a stare. “You’re planning a trap.”
His eyes widened in mock innocence. “Me? Never.”
Jeanine studied the board. If her calculations were correct—
A shadow fell across the carpet to her right and she looked up and gasped. Lord Gordon stood in the doorway.
“How very cozy the two of you are,” he said with mock sweetness.
The word ‘cozy’ sounded more like ‘coshy.’ Was he drunk?
“It seems I was closer to the mark with you two than even I realized,” he said.
‘Seems’ came out ‘sheems’
Valan rose. “The hour is late, Gordon. Why are you here?”
Lord Gordon ste
pped into the room and listed a little to the right. “You know full well why I’m here.” The words were more of a drunken growl than English.
“I am distressed that the footman who should’ve shown you in didn’t announce you,” Valan said.
“Never mind him,” Lord Gordon snapped. “How dare you tell everyone that she rejected my suit. You can’t stand that I bested you twenty years ago. The Morning Star,” he sneered the name. “You flout Society, yet they welcome you with open arms.” His eyes snagged on the letters sitting on the desk. He took two steps to the desk and snatched up the envelopes. “So, your little whore came straight to you.” He threw them onto the carpet. “All the better. Servants will whisper about how they saw the letters in your library.” His bloodshot eyes swung onto Jeanine. “I thought you were different.”
Anger swept through her. She leapt to her feet. “Different from what?”
“I believe he is referring to an old friend of mine,” Grey said.
“Old friend, that’s rich,” Lord Gordon said. “She was just another one of your whores.”
“Being drunk is no excuse for being a liar,” Grey said in a voice so cold that it sent a shiver down Jeanine’s back.
Grey started toward him. Lord Gordon jammed a hand into his coat pocket and whipped out a pistol. Grey froze. Jeanine drew a sharp breath.
Grey stepped in front of her. “Your quarrel is with me, Gordon.”
He gave a vicious laugh. “You believe you are so superior to the rest of us.” His eyes glittered. “I was there, you know.”
“There?” Grey repeated as if they were discussing nothing more than afternoon tea.
“When they found your father.”
Jeanine’s attention caught on the flex of Grey’s hands into fists.
“His death should have finished you,” Gordon said with such spite that Jeanine wished she had another poker so that she could brain him again. This time, she would kill him. His mouth twisted upward in a malicious smile. “How does it feel being guilty of the same crime your father’s murderer was guilty of? He is a murderer, you know. When Lord Graves won your father’s fortune, he might as well have pulled the trigger of the pistol your father used to shoot himself. Did the man whose fortune you won shoot himself, as well?” Lord Gordon stepped toward them. “You’ve guarded that secret jealously. Who was he?”
“A Frenchman,” Grey replied. “You wouldn’t know him.”
Cold fingers inched up Jeanine’s spine. She had the strangest feeling he was lying.
“What do you want?” Grey asked.
“I plan to marry her.” He motioned with the pistol in Jeanine’s direction.
“I won’t marry you,” Jeanine exclaimed.
“I imagine you intend to shoot me first,” Grey said in a level voice.
He kept the pistol pointed at Grey. “Come here, Miss Matheson, or I will shoot him.”
“Stay where you are, Jeanine,” Grey said. “I am sorry, Gordon, but I cannot allow you to take her.”
“How will you stop me? You don’t keep a pistol in your house. Can’t stomach the sight of them, I understand. The night you climbed into Lady Victoria’s bedchambers, you didn’t put up even the slightest bit of a fight. The pistols her brother and I pointed at you rendered you helpless as a little girl.”
“You won,” Grey said. “That isn’t enough?”
“She never stopped talking of you,” he snarled. “Her brother had to send her away.”
“She was fifteen,” Grey said. “Girls that age are prone to lovesickness. She married a viscount and has three children.”
“She should have been mine,” Lord Gordon snapped. “She would have been, but you ruined her.”
“I never touched her,” Grey said.
“Liar,” he hissed. Eyes on Grey, he said, “Come here, Miss Matheson. Defy me, and I’ll shoot him.”
“You can’t possibly get away with this,” Grey said.
“On the contrary. You put it about that Miss Matheson rejected me, but when they learn that we married, they’ll know that was just spiteful gossip spun by you. Society will have to acknowledge that a simple country girl preferred me to The Morning Star.”
“I will tell everyone the truth,” Jeanine spat.
He gave her a harsh smile. “When we return from France with you heavy with my child, you will be glad for my protection. Unless you really are carrying his child already.”
Jeanine lifted her chin. “Grey has been nothing but a gentleman.”
“How noble.”
Movement in the hallway caught her attention.
Grey took a step toward Gordon.
“Nae,” Jeanine cried. “He will shoot you.”
Miss Stone lunged through the doorway. Grey dove for Gordon. The gun fired with a deafening roar. Jeanine screamed when Grey stumbled. She sprang forward as Miss Stone collided with Lord Gordon, but felt as if she was struggling through quicksand.
The marquess caught himself and stumbled toward Lord Gordon. Miss Stone raked her nails down Lord Gordon’s cheek. He howled and shoved her aside. She hit the carpet and the marquess crashed into him. They fell to the rug with a thud as Jeanine reached them. She leapt aside as the two men rolled across the rug in a death grip.
Miss Stone shoved into a sitting position. Jeanine looked wildly about the room for something to hit Lord Gordon with. Her ears rang. Two men appeared in the doorway. She yanked her gaze up and saw the gentleman she’d met in Grey’s library two days ago, Baron Rosemund, along with another tall, dark-haired man.
“What in God’s name—” Baron Rosemund rushed to Grey and Lord Gordon.
He dealt a hard kick to the side of Lord Gordon’s head with his boot heel. The man went limp. Jeanine rushed to Grey’s side and fell to her knees beside him. Blood spotted the sleeve of his left shoulder.
Baron Rosemund nodded toward Lord Gordon. “I assume he is the reason your door is open and a footman is lying unconscious in your foyer?”
The marquess looked sharply at him. “Is the footman dead?”
Brendan shook his head. “Nae. But I’ll wager he has a devil of a headache tomorrow.”
“What are you doing here?” Grey actually sounded peeved.
“We had a meeting,” the baron said.
Grey grunted. “I sent a note, cancelling.”
“Anthony insisted on ignoring that,” Rosemund said. “You should be grateful he did.”
“What the devil is all this about?” the other man demanded.
Jeanine gingerly fingered Grey’s wound. “You are bleeding.” She dropped onto her backside and pinned him with a hard stare. “I specifically instructed you not to be hurt on my account.”
His brows rose. “The bullet barely grazed me.” He looked up at the baron. “Brendan, if you would.” He extended a hand.
The baron clasped his hand and hauled him to his feet. Grey reached for Jeanine, but she scrambled to her feet and grabbed his arm.
“You must sit down.” Jeanine looked over her shoulder. “Miss Stone, please wake Mr. Baldwin and have him call for a doctor.”
Lady Guilford burst into the room with Mr. Baldwin and Mrs. McPhee close behind.
Lady Guilford skidded to a halt, her sleeping cap askew on her head. Her eyes widened and her hand flew to her heart. “What happened? Valan, you’re bleeding.”
“A mere flesh wound,” he said with exasperation.
“Mr. Baldwin,” Jeanine said, “please call for a doctor.”
Mr. Baldwin glanced at Grey, who sighed and said, “She will not be satisfied until a doctor confirms that I am not dying.”
The steward disappeared.
“Mrs. McPhee, will you bring tea for everyone?” Jeanine asked.
The housekeeper looked at Grey. He nodded, and she hurried from the room.
“Very clever of you, my dear,” Grey said to Jeanine. “They will stay busy for some time.”
“Will someone tell me what is going on?” Lady Guilford demanded. Lord Go
rdon moaned and she jumped. “Good lord, is that—” Her eyes snapped onto the marquess. “I told you he would go too far.”
“As usual, you were right, Peigi.”
“We should call for a constable,” she said.
“Aye.” Grey looked at Baron Rosemund. “Brendan, I would greatly appreciate—”
The baron held up a hand. “Say no more—well, until we return. I will want to hear this story in full.”
Grey canted his head. “I would prefer to tell the story but once. When the constable comes, you and Anthony may hear everything in full.”
“Come along, Anthony.”
Baron Rosemund grabbed Lord Gordon by his left arm and the other man grabbed his right arm, and they hauled him to his feet. He moaned as they dragged him out the door.
“You must sit down.” Jeanine pulled him to the couch and pushed him onto the cushion. “Miss Stone.” Jeanine whirled. Miss Stone stood near the desk, hair askew. “Are you unharmed?”
“I am perfectly fine.”
“What in the world were you doing in the hall?” Jeanine demanded.
“I feared you weren’t being truthful when you said you would see me in the morning.”
Jeanine flushed, but said, “Well, I am immensely glad you were there. Will you fetch water and some fresh cloths, please?”
She nodded and hurried from the room. Only Lady Guilford remained.
“Peigi, if you are to hear the story, I suggest you dress,” said his lordship. “Brendan and Anthony will no doubt return within an hour accompanied by a constable.”
She nodded and left.
Then Grey looked at Jeanine.
Chapter Fourteen
Valan was loath to admit that even a flesh wound could ache. He was getting too old for such nonsense. Despite the fact he had bled only enough to ruin his crisp white shirt, Jeanine was still applying pressure to the ‘wound.’
Valan regarded her with a stern eye. “That was foolish of you.”
“Me?” She dropped onto the couch beside him, her fingers still pressed against the wound. “You are the one who ran straight into the barrel of a pistol.”
He grunted. “Gordon has always been a bad shot.”
Jeanine’s eyes widened, then she burst into tears and buried her head in his chest.